went on.
On each monitor, a graphic ray of light was reflected from a satellite over Australia to a satellite over the United States—and then beamed to a graphic of the Gotham-based telescope.
“From here,” said the other scientist, “we’ll be able to see the sky anywhere on earth.”
“Just don’t point it at my bedroom,” said the woman beside Bruce Wayne. Her remark got a laugh.
Gossip Gerty stood up again. “Bruce, you and the exquisite Julie Madison have been going out for what seems like forever. Are you planning to tie the knot?”
Wayne flushed. “Get married? Me? No . . .”
“No?” echoed the lovely Miss Madison.
Her wealthy date looked flustered. “Um, what I mean is . . . we have no plans at the moment . . .”
“But soon,” said Julie, flashing her perfect teeth.
“Soon?” asked Gerty, no doubt hoping for some more dirt.
Wayne tugged on his collar. “Ah . . . soon er or later . . . all relationships evolve and . . .”
“And?” asked Gerty.
The billionaire turned to his companion. “Can I get some help over here?”
Julie smiled and turned to the press, the very picture of composure. “Bruce and I are lucky enough to be recklessly in love. And that is most certainly enough for us.” She turned to Wayne and added, in a voice that was barely audible, “for now.”
The press laughed, charmed by her wit. Pamela just rolled her eyes. If this kept up, she’d lose her lunch.
“Now,” said the first scientist, “if you’ll all follow me, I’ll show you the central control grid . . .”
Leading the press to the telescope, the scientist continued speaking about it. His associate and Miss Madison followed as well.
But not Bruce Wayne. He stayed by the platform to confer with two of his aides. Seeing her chance, Pamela jumped on it.
But before she could reach the megamogul, a guard stopped her. “Sorry, miss. I don’t see a press pass.”
“Yes,” she said reasonably. “I’m aware of that. But I need to speak with Mr. Wayne.”
The guard shook his head. “No can do.”
“But it’s very important,” she insisted.
Suddenly, Wayne’s head turned in their direction. A moment later, he came over and addressed the guard.
“What’s going on, Ted?” he asked softly.
The guard frowned at Pamela. “She doesn’t have a pass, sir.”
Wayne smiled and waved the guard off. “It’s all right.”
“If you’re sure, sir . . .”
“I’m sure,” the industrialist said. He turned to Pamela. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you, Miss . . . ?”
“ Doctor ,” Pamela corrected. “Doctor Pamela Isley.”
Wayne looked apologetic. “Doctor, then. What can I do for you? If you’re looking for a research grant, I’m afraid I’m the wrong one to talk to. But I can tell you whom to contact at the Wayne Foundation . . .”
She looked at him, undaunted. “Actually, I already work for you. Or did. Your arboreal preservation project in South America.”
He thought for a moment. “Oh, yes. But . . . I believe we cut our support for that. A conflict of ideologies, you understand. To put it bluntly, Dr. Woodrue was a lunatic.”
“I see you knew him,” Pamela observed.
Wayne’s eyes narrowed. “As I recall, that lab was consumed by fire last week. How did you manage to escape?”
Pamela ignored the question. Instead, she handed him a document she’d made up on her way to the press conference.
“I have here a proposal,” she said, “showing how Wayne Enterprises can immediately cease all actions that toxify our environment.”
Wayne took the proposal, opened it up, and scanned it. His brow furrowed as he read.
“Forget the stars,” she told him. “Look here, at the earth, our mother, our womb. She deserves our loyalty and protection. And yet you spoil her lands, poison her oceans, blacken her skies. You’re killing her.”
The industrialist looked up, apparently having read enough. He appeared sympathetic to her cause. For a brief moment, she
On each monitor, a graphic ray of light was reflected from a satellite over Australia to a satellite over the United States—and then beamed to a graphic of the Gotham-based telescope.
“From here,” said the other scientist, “we’ll be able to see the sky anywhere on earth.”
“Just don’t point it at my bedroom,” said the woman beside Bruce Wayne. Her remark got a laugh.
Gossip Gerty stood up again. “Bruce, you and the exquisite Julie Madison have been going out for what seems like forever. Are you planning to tie the knot?”
Wayne flushed. “Get married? Me? No . . .”
“No?” echoed the lovely Miss Madison.
Her wealthy date looked flustered. “Um, what I mean is . . . we have no plans at the moment . . .”
“But soon,” said Julie, flashing her perfect teeth.
“Soon?” asked Gerty, no doubt hoping for some more dirt.
Wayne tugged on his collar. “Ah . . . soon er or later . . . all relationships evolve and . . .”
“And?” asked Gerty.
The billionaire turned to his companion. “Can I get some help over here?”
Julie smiled and turned to the press, the very picture of composure. “Bruce and I are lucky enough to be recklessly in love. And that is most certainly enough for us.” She turned to Wayne and added, in a voice that was barely audible, “for now.”
The press laughed, charmed by her wit. Pamela just rolled her eyes. If this kept up, she’d lose her lunch.
“Now,” said the first scientist, “if you’ll all follow me, I’ll show you the central control grid . . .”
Leading the press to the telescope, the scientist continued speaking about it. His associate and Miss Madison followed as well.
But not Bruce Wayne. He stayed by the platform to confer with two of his aides. Seeing her chance, Pamela jumped on it.
But before she could reach the megamogul, a guard stopped her. “Sorry, miss. I don’t see a press pass.”
“Yes,” she said reasonably. “I’m aware of that. But I need to speak with Mr. Wayne.”
The guard shook his head. “No can do.”
“But it’s very important,” she insisted.
Suddenly, Wayne’s head turned in their direction. A moment later, he came over and addressed the guard.
“What’s going on, Ted?” he asked softly.
The guard frowned at Pamela. “She doesn’t have a pass, sir.”
Wayne smiled and waved the guard off. “It’s all right.”
“If you’re sure, sir . . .”
“I’m sure,” the industrialist said. He turned to Pamela. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you, Miss . . . ?”
“ Doctor ,” Pamela corrected. “Doctor Pamela Isley.”
Wayne looked apologetic. “Doctor, then. What can I do for you? If you’re looking for a research grant, I’m afraid I’m the wrong one to talk to. But I can tell you whom to contact at the Wayne Foundation . . .”
She looked at him, undaunted. “Actually, I already work for you. Or did. Your arboreal preservation project in South America.”
He thought for a moment. “Oh, yes. But . . . I believe we cut our support for that. A conflict of ideologies, you understand. To put it bluntly, Dr. Woodrue was a lunatic.”
“I see you knew him,” Pamela observed.
Wayne’s eyes narrowed. “As I recall, that lab was consumed by fire last week. How did you manage to escape?”
Pamela ignored the question. Instead, she handed him a document she’d made up on her way to the press conference.
“I have here a proposal,” she said, “showing how Wayne Enterprises can immediately cease all actions that toxify our environment.”
Wayne took the proposal, opened it up, and scanned it. His brow furrowed as he read.
“Forget the stars,” she told him. “Look here, at the earth, our mother, our womb. She deserves our loyalty and protection. And yet you spoil her lands, poison her oceans, blacken her skies. You’re killing her.”
The industrialist looked up, apparently having read enough. He appeared sympathetic to her cause. For a brief moment, she
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